Wikus' eyes snapped open. It took several minutes before his memories came flooding back. All he remembered was Koobus Venter being ripped apart by prawns, and his body being dragged in various directions as the hungry aliens feasted.
A searing pain flooded Wikus' senses as he regained consciousness. It was dark, and he was huddled beneath a cardboard sheet. It was quite like his first night in District 9.
The pain was overwhelming. All over his mutating body, a sharp ache persisted. In the dull light, he could make out a gaping wound just below the scaly prawn skin covering the left side of his body. Strangely, scales had stitched together just below the surface of Wikus' skin. The damaged skin was being pushed away from his less than human body as the transformation continued.
Though he was not bleeding, Wikus still felt like he was damaged. How could he not? The virus inside him was eating away his humanity like acid, at an accelerating pace, too. Wikus' jaw clenched tightly against the pain of the mutation as well as the pain of being utterly alone. He was a science experiment, a fugitive. He was no longer human even if he still partially looked so.
"Fuck…" Wikus managed to spit one last spite filled curse before the last of his teeth dropped from his gums. Using his only two fingers left, he plucked out the last remaining teeth with a hiss of pain. With a jolt of fear, Wikus realised his lips were not the flat, smooth lips they had once been. It felt as if they had been put through a paper shredder. Segmented chunks of flesh beneath his moustache where his lip should have been. Wikus spat out a string of curses, which only sounded like the angry sputtering of a human child.
A loud crash emanated from just outside Wikus' hiding place. Wikus sat upright, breathing shallowly, wary of any little noise. He heard shuffling around and a loud snort, no doubt a pesky prawn trying to find a half decent meal in the trash.
Fucking prawns… Wikus thought angrily. It was them that did this to him. It was them who put him in this situation.
It was also them that he depended on to be saved.
Wikus thought back to his parting with Christopher Johnson several days ago. He hoped that the alien had made it to safety. He planned to save his race, then save Wikus with their advanced technology. Three years, he said, it would take three years until he could save him.
A crushing sadness hit Wikus like a wave. He felt selfish, but it was impossible not to feel that way, given Wikus' predicament. Not only would he likely never be human again, he would never see Tania for the rest of his life. How scared she must be… He shed a single tear from his one human eye, which was still relatively intact from what he could feel.
By having two the two species within him, human and prawn, Wikus felt strangely exhilarated. It felt like two different bodies inside him, but he was at one with both. Though he detested his alien half, he couldn't help but feel a demented sort of pride in himself for somehow being able to tolerate the spliced genetics. By tolerate, Wikus meant not dying shuffling outside continued. This time, closer to his shack. Wikus shuffled close to the ramshackle window that looked out onto the dusty clearing before the garbage dump. He saw nothing at first, but suddenly the ugly face of a prawn child popped up on the other side of the window. Startled, Wikus fell backwards. The youngling peered curiously into the dirty window. It must've smelt what was left of Wikus' human scent. Wikus knew from extensive research that prawns had a very keen sense of smell. He could even sense his own beginning to sharpen.
Wikus remained unmoving as the little prawn investigated. It didn't cease, but instead began to claw at a small hole near the door. Wikus saw its little paw reach through the hole, grasping around on the floor. Looking around, Wikus grabbed an old cat food can and flung it at the curious child. Scaring it, the prawn fled, leaving Wikus alone once more. He didn't think he would ever get used to living amongst the prawns. It was either that, or suicide. Trying to be optimistic, Wikus had to believe that Christopher would return, and that he would be human again. Wikus frightened easily, yes, but he was no coward. There was no way, at least not yet, that he would find himself at the end of a rope or gun barrel.
Shuffling around in his makeshift bed, Wikus tried to find the small butter knife he had found in the trash a few days ago. It was the only protection he had against prawn or human. Wikus had lost his chance to grab any alien weaponry from the fight against Venter. He had fled as quickly as possible before the other mercenaries could find him. Getting to the other side of the district without dying surprised Wikus. It must be due to the strength of the alien body. He had fortunately been able to find a deserted shack that no MNU agent had checked over in months. There was a small dugout in the floor, where Wikus could hide if he needed to. Luckily, for almost a week, no human had come traipsing around his hideout. That wasn't to say that the prawns weren't aware of him.
Wikus wondered briefly if it was safe for him to forage outside. He had only had two cans of can food since he disappeared from the battle zone. He felt his strength beginning to dwindle, but no pangs of hunger hit him. The strange physiology of the aliens included an extremely low metabolism. Wikus knew these creatures could go for weeks without food, but he did not know how long he could.
The knife wouldn't do much against either adversary, but it gave Wikus a bleak hope that he could defend himself in his weakened state. The other prawns were wary of him, for he was neither prawn nor human, but Wikus didn't trust them not to attack. Humans, however, would attack on sight. They only saw him as a science project. Both species detested him, yes, but at least the aliens tolerated him as one of their own. They had protected him from Venter, after all.
Deciding to make the best of his situation, Wikus tested out his sharpened senses. His one prawn eye, now his best, saw the world in explicit detail. Closing his human eye, Wikus saw that he had a peripheral view of nearly two hundred degrees. He could see distant objects with explicit detail, and close ones with the same accuracy. Trying to smell, Wikus inhaled through his nose. He smelt nothing through his broken nose, sadly. Wikus had always loved to smell things, good or bad. He was reminded of home for a brief time. Curious, he stuck out his tongue with morbid humor. Still nothing. Wikus would have to do without smell for now. It was only a matter of time before he fully transformed. Perhaps then he would discover his favourite sense again.
How long is this change going to take…?
Wikus found himself getting bored. He was a wanted fugitive, in the middle of District 9, in the midst of mutating into an alien…and he was bored.
Sighing, Wikus looked out the dirty window again. A couple of prawns had gathered around the garbage pile, picking through it with pointy, claw like fingers. Wikus looked down at his own hands, which more closely resembled those of his neighbours, with a depressed stare. He remembered when he had first seen that scaly hand. The look on everyone's face had mirrored his own. Pure horror. Pure disgust. Pure hatred. How could he ever go back now, knowing how much people hated him? Maybe Johannesburg would be a little bit better without him in it…
Wikus cautiously leaned forward on his knees and pulled open the door. No prawns looked over, and none were hanging around the shack. He cautiously poked his head out the door, scanning with his improved vision for mercenaries in the air. With the way clear, Wikus stumbled out of the shack. His legs screamed in pain as he stood. Wikus looked down at his bare feet, expecting to see the paw-like foot of a prawn. All he saw was a small cut on his instep, likely from something as simple as stepping on a sharp object. All of his toenails were missing, and his toes had begun to fuse together. It would be horrifying to anyone, but at this point, Wikus simply expected new horrors daily.
He trudged on aching feet through the dusty clearing, securing the metal bar in front of his shack's door to let intruders know the place was occupied. Wikus watched the other prawns warily as they shuffled through the garbage. This was the poorest side of the already pitiable District 9. These prawns had nothing to trade for food and had to forage on their own. With a sinking feeling, Wikus realised he was now a part of this affluent scourge.
The prawns glanced over at the approaching Wikus, antennae twitching suspiciously. One prawn of reddish colour cautiously loped up beside Wikus as he trudged forward determinedly. Wikus heard the alien's quick, rough breaths as it investigated his entire body. He felt it sniffing like a mongrel dog at his rear. Even the prawns would not just leave him be with quiet dignity.
Anger bubbled up inside Wikus. He lashed out at the curious prawn. His claw connected with its mandible, sending it sprawling backwards. It shrieked in anger and lunged at Wikus before he prepared himself. The prawn took Wikus to the ground, a loud popping sound emanating from the back of its throat. Wikus could only try to hold the heavy prawn at arms' length to keep from getting his nose ripped off. The alien's hot breath dripped onto the poor mutant as he struggled to stay alive.
Wikus' eyes snapped open. It took several minutes before his memories came flooding back. All he remembered was Koobus Venter being ripped apart by prawns, and his body being dragged in various directions as the hungry aliens feasted.
A searing pain flooded Wikus' senses as he regained consciousness. It was dark, and he was huddled beneath a cardboard sheet. It was quite like his first night in District 9.
The pain was overwhelming. All over his mutating body, a sharp ache persisted. In the dull light, he could make out a gaping wound just below the scaly prawn skin covering the left side of his body. Strangely, scales had stitched together just below the surface of Wikus' skin. The damaged skin was being pushed away from his less than human body as the transformation continued.
Though he was not bleeding, Wikus still felt like he was damaged. How could he not? The virus inside him was eating away his humanity like acid, at an accelerating pace, too. Wikus' jaw clenched tightly against the pain of the mutation as well as the pain of being utterly alone. He was a science experiment, a fugitive. He was no longer human even if he still partially looked so.
"Fuck…" Wikus managed to spit one last spite filled curse before the last of his teeth dropped from his gums. Using his only two fingers left, he plucked out the last remaining teeth with a hiss of pain. With a jolt of fear, Wikus realised his lips were not the flat, smooth lips they had once been. It felt as if they had been put through a paper shredder. Segmented chunks of flesh beneath his moustache where his lip should have been. Wikus spat out a string of curses, which only sounded like the angry sputtering of a human child.
A loud crash emanated from just outside Wikus' hiding place. Wikus sat upright, breathing shallowly, wary of any little noise. He heard shuffling around and a loud snort, no doubt a pesky prawn trying to find a half decent meal in the trash.
Fucking prawns… Wikus thought angrily. It was them that did this to him. It was them who put him in this situation.
It was also them that he depended on to be saved.
Wikus thought back to his parting with Christopher Johnson several days ago. He hoped that the alien had made it to safety. He planned to save his race, then save Wikus with their advanced technology. Three years, he said, it would take three years until he could save him.
A crushing sadness hit Wikus like a wave. He felt selfish, but it was impossible not to feel that way, given Wikus' predicament. Not only would he likely never be human again, he would never see Tania for the rest of his life. How scared she must be… He shed a single tear from his one human eye, which was still relatively intact from what he could feel.
By having two the two species within him, human and prawn, Wikus felt strangely exhilarated. It felt like two different bodies inside him, but he was at one with both. Though he detested his alien half, he couldn't help but feel a demented sort of pride in himself for somehow being able to tolerate the spliced genetics. By tolerate, Wikus meant not dying immediately.
The shuffling outside continued. This time, closer to his shack. Wikus shuffled close to the ramshackle window that looked out onto the dusty clearing before the garbage dump. He saw nothing at first, but suddenly the ugly face of a prawn child popped up on the other side of the window. Startled, Wikus fell backwards. The youngling peered curiously into the dirty window. It must've smelt what was left of Wikus' human scent. Wikus knew from extensive research that prawns had a very keen sense of smell. He could even sense his own beginning to sharpen.
Wikus remained unmoving as the little prawn investigated. It didn't cease, but instead began to claw at a small hole near the door. Wikus saw its little paw reach through the hole, grasping around on the floor. Looking around, Wikus grabbed an old cat food can and flung it at the curious child. Scaring it, the prawn fled, leaving Wikus alone once more. He didn't think he would ever get used to living amongst the prawns. It was either that, or suicide. Trying to be optimistic, Wikus had to believe that Christopher would return, and that he would be human again. Wikus frightened easily, yes, but he was no coward. There was no way, at least not yet, that he would find himself at the end of a rope or gun barrel.
Shuffling around in his makeshift bed, Wikus tried to find the small butter knife he had found in the trash a few days ago. It was the only protection he had against prawn or human. Wikus had lost his chance to grab any alien weaponry from the fight against Venter. He had fled as quickly as possible before the other mercenaries could find him. Getting to the other side of the district without dying surprised Wikus. It must be due to the strength of the alien body. He had fortunately been able to find a deserted shack that no MNU agent had checked over in months. There was a small dugout in the floor, where Wikus could hide if he needed to. Luckily, for almost a week, no human had come traipsing around his hideout. That wasn't to say that the prawns weren't aware of him.
Wikus wondered briefly if it was safe for him to forage outside. He had only had two cans of can food since he disappeared from the battle zone. He felt his strength beginning to dwindle, but no pangs of hunger hit him. The strange physiology of the aliens included an extremely low metabolism. Wikus knew these creatures could go for weeks without food, but he did not know how long he could.
The knife wouldn't do much against either adversary, but it gave Wikus a bleak hope that he could defend himself in his weakened state. The other prawns were wary of him, for he was neither prawn nor human, but Wikus didn't trust them not to attack. Humans, however, would attack on sight. They only saw him as a science project. Both species detested him, yes, but at least the aliens tolerated him as one of their own. They had protected him from Venter, after all.
Deciding to make the best of his situation, Wikus tested out his sharpened senses. His one prawn eye, now his best, saw the world in explicit detail. Closing his human eye, Wikus saw that he had a peripheral view of nearly two hundred degrees. He could see distant objects with explicit detail, and close ones with the same accuracy. Trying to smell, Wikus inhaled through his nose. He smelt nothing through his broken nose, sadly. Wikus had always loved to smell things, good or bad. He was reminded of home for a brief time. Curious, he stuck out his tongue with morbid humor. Still nothing. Wikus would have to do without smell for now. It was only a matter of time before he fully transformed. Perhaps then he would discover his favourite sense again.
How long is this change going to take…?
Wikus found himself getting bored. He was a wanted fugitive, in the middle of District 9, in the midst of mutating into an alien…and he was bored.
Sighing, Wikus looked out the dirty window again. A couple of prawns had gathered around the garbage pile, picking through it with pointy, claw like fingers. Wikus looked down at his own hands, which more closely resembled those of his neighbours, with a depressed stare. He remembered when he had first seen that scaly hand. The look on everyone's face had mirrored his own. Pure horror. Pure disgust. Pure hatred. How could he ever go back now, knowing how much people hated him? Maybe Johannesburg would be a little bit better without him in it…
Wikus cautiously leaned forward on his knees and pulled open the door. No prawns looked over, and none were hanging around the shack. He cautiously poked his head out the door, scanning with his improved vision for mercenaries in the air. With the way clear, Wikus stumbled out of the shack. His legs screamed in pain as he stood. Wikus looked down at his bare feet, expecting to see the paw-like foot of a prawn. All he saw was a small cut on his instep, likely from something as simple as stepping on a sharp object. All of his toenails were missing, and his toes had begun to fuse together. It would be horrifying to anyone, but at this point, Wikus simply expected new horrors daily.
He trudged on aching feet through the dusty clearing, securing the metal bar in front of his shack's door to let intruders know the place was occupied. Wikus watched the other prawns warily as they shuffled through the garbage. This was the poorest side of the already pitiable District 9. These prawns had nothing to trade for food and had to forage on their own. With a sinking feeling, Wikus realised he was now a part of this affluent scourge.
The prawns glanced over at the approaching Wikus, antennae twitching suspiciously. One prawn of reddish colour cautiously loped up beside Wikus as he trudged forward determinedly. Wikus heard the alien's quick, rough breaths as it investigated his entire body. He felt it sniffing like a mongrel dog at his rear. Even the prawns would not just leave him be with quiet dignity.
Anger bubbled up inside Wikus. He lashed out at the curious prawn. His claw connected with its mandible, sending it sprawling backwards. It shrieked in anger and lunged at Wikus before he prepared himself. The prawn took Wikus to the ground, a loud popping sound emanating from the back of its throat. Wikus could only try to hold the heavy prawn at arms' length to keep from getting his nose ripped off. The alien's hot breath dripped onto the poor mutant as he struggled to stay alive.